The Sale-room

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Страница 213 - Tis to create, and in creating live A being more intense, that we endow With form our fancy, gaining as we give The life we image, even as I do now.
Страница 46 - O ! who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus? Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite By bare imagination of a feast?
Страница 30 - Half way down Hangs one that gathers samphire; dreadful trade! Methinks, he seems no bigger than his head: The fishermen, that walk upon the beach, Appear like mice; and yon...
Страница 32 - And now my tongue's use is to me no more Than an unstringed viol, or a harp ; Or like a cunning instrument cas'd up, Or, being open, put into his hands That knows no touch to tune the harmony.
Страница 174 - There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream, And the nightingale sings round it all the day long ; In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream, To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.
Страница 175 - Fly to the desert, fly with me, Our Arab tents are rude for thee ; But oh ! the choice what heart can doubt Of tents with love, or thrones without ? Our rocks are rough, but smiling there Th' acacia waves her yellow hair, Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less For flowering in a wilderness.
Страница 33 - In chimney corner seek domestic joys — I love a prince will bid the bottle pass, Exchanging with his subjects glance and glass ; In fitting time, can, gayest of the gay, Keep up the jest, and mingle in the lay — Such Monarchs best our free-born humours suit, But Despots must be stately, stern, and mute.
Страница 213 - He, who grown aged in this world of woe, In deeds, not years, piercing the depths of life, So that no wonder waits him...
Страница 175 - Oh ! there are looks and tones that dart An instant sunshine through the heart, — As if the soul that minute caught Some treasure it through life had sought...
Страница 229 - He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, That dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lose it all.

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